


The Disastrous Life of One Martin K. Blackwood

by Beepun



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Adopted Martin Blackwood, Bets are made, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Established - Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Found Family Tropes, Gen, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, Slowburn - Jonmartin, implied child neglect, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beepun/pseuds/Beepun
Summary: Martin K Blackwood always knew his fathers were an eccentric bunch. They had more money than they knew what to do with and their relationship would be described as rocky by everyone but each other, who simply called it love. He's not sure he buys it, even years later. But that's not what matters right now. What matters is that he's accidentally gotten hired at his father's Insitute where no one can know he's related to Elias.Elias and Peter make a bet. Martin makes mistakes. A family is formed on secrets that two fathers have decided to never ever share with their son, which bringing on their individual apocalypse much harder than anticipated.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 21
Kudos: 186





	1. How Things Came to Be

**Author's Note:**

> The lesson I have learned is that I should write my fic, wait a day or two to proofread it, proofread it again. Proofread it one more time, and then proofread it again before posting. I, however, am not the best student. I'm also sure this has been done before, but u know, have another fun time fic before season 5.
> 
> Please enjoy this fic that I started writing at three in the morning after making some sims and thinking oh there can be some humor here. But in the morning I thought oh there can be some angst here too. Despite the angsty nature of this first chapter, I assure you there are plenty of good times and bad times for Martin.

“Peter,” Elias Bouchard is a patient man. He leans forward, placing his elbows on his desk and rests his chin on his clasped hands. “ You’ve embarrassed me at the annual Institute holiday party for the last time, I want another divorce.” 

The declaration, usually followed by familiar fanfare and drama, falls muffled against Peter Lukas. His husband usually scoffs, or rolls his eyes, or tries to change his mind with that wicked mouth of his. Now, there’s hardly any indication that Peter has registered Elias’s threat, and if there is one thing Elias hates it’s having to repeat himself.

“Do I make myself clear, Peter? I will be contacting my lawyer first thing in the morning.” He says, making sure each word is clear. Each word a promise that Peter will be losing every single penny he can get his hands on if only to make the sting of loss more bitter than sweet. 

Still, Peter simply sits on the opposite side of the desk, slumped into his chair with his face resting pensively against a fist. Elias might as well hope the wind outside can hear him and that the fog finds meaning in the words he’s spoken to no one. It is the most frustrating bit, this part of Peter that refuses to be seen or known. Usually, there’s a chance for Elias to revel in the mystery, to push at the boundaries that make Peter Unknown. Right now, the mist serves to further enrage Elias. If he keeps pushing, it’s no better than begging. If he lets this go, it’s the same as admitting defeat. 

So they sit there, Elias stewing in anger until it feels like a burning fire will tear through his skin if he doesn’t beat Peter’s head open to find the secrets kept locked away in the pattern of blood and grey matter. 

“Elders of the Lukas have begun discussing the continuation of the family.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, you can see the problem.”

“Don’t tell me you’re sour about it.”

“Not about the means, no. It is simply a…” He pauses, casting stormy gray eyes onto Elias. The unnatural chill that settles on his skin seems to push deeper, trying to make a home in his bones. “I would have liked to have some part in continuing the line. Like my mother did, for me. Not so much a child of my own, but even you can’t deny preparing an avatar for The Lonely is a great honor. The creating of a follower for Forsaken is a great act of worship over many years, such a commitment it is.”

“An avatar, not a sacrifice?” Elias asks, curios regardless of this preposterous situation.

“No more than I will be at the end of my life. No more than I am now, always offering up my Loneliness to the One Alone.” 

Stormy gray turns to ice steel as Elias catches his eyes. They’ve had their ups and downs over the course of their relationship. No one can force Elias to come to terms with his own mortality, his own end goal in serving The Ceaseless Watcher quiet as Peter Lukas can. They have the same ambition, the same devotion. Their Gods above everything else, regardless of what that means for themselves as individuals. And the way Peter can hide from Elias, that push and pull that keeps them coming back. In all his years, Elias - no, Jonah Magnus - has yet to meet a single soul who has seen his soul bared and still chosen to chase and yield to him. No one else has met his needs, has understood the short nature of their relationship while giving everything and refusing anything.

There is something more stirring under his skin. He knows Peter sees it in the way his lips turn into a smirk. What an interesting plan, to create an avatar for The Lonely. The anthropological need to observe, to know, tugs at Elias more like a dog being yanked along by a leash than anything else. And what sort of havoc could he introduce to Peter’s plan by, perhaps, feeding this young Forsaken avatar to the Eye? 

A wicked grin cuts across his face as he leans forward. 

“Why, my dearest husband, would you like to make a wager?”

* * *

There is always someone crying in Martin’s mind. It’s his mother’s voice, more times than not. All the nights she cried herself to sleep, the nights she returned from a doctor’s visit and proceeded to sit in their tiny flat with a bottle in hand as she openly cursed the world for her misfortune. Martin would sit alone in his room as she sobbed her pain, listening to her scream and yell until all that was left was soft whimpers. He’d stay locked in his room then, afraid of being seen. He still had a scar from the last time he tried to help her, a constant reminder of his unwanted presence in his mother's life. 

There is always someone crying, something begging for the pain to end through wet sobs. Right now, Martin realizes that the one crying is him. It’s his voice echoing around the bleach white hospital room. He’s not sure why he’s crying, he’s not sure if just because it’s what he’s seen in movies. The voice sounds far more hurt than he feels. He’s not really sure what he feels, except that the world has turned itself on its head and left Martin broken in a way he cannot see, but can fully feel. It’s as though he’s been hit by a truck, but the wounds are somewhere deep inside of his heart, in a place he will never reach or heal. 

There is the sound of sobbing being mixed and turned and fading as another sound fills his ears, a dangerous sound that is more mockery than it is sorrowful. His mother’s voice two days ago that had said _leave me alone_. And then she’d fallen asleep and not woken up. And right now there is the sound of a rattle, of one last exhale, and the sound of the heart machine flatlining. 

Martin falls apart. The world moves away from him, leaving him alone in the dark space between nothing and everything. Between sorrow and reality. Someone is crying, someone cannot catch his breath. Someone is begging, begging for another chance to be a good son, to be the best son there could ever be. For just one _I love you, Martin_. For just one more day for his mother, who had to suffer so much because she had to be _his_ mother. She didn’t deserve that, no one in the world did. 

It is all too much for him to watch as the nurses pile in. They lift his mother’s limbs and he expects the stiffness of death, not for her limbs to move easily and free as they never could in life. It is, for all of Martins’ heartbreak, simply too much. His mother is gone and he has nothing. His eyes wander from the form of his mother wrapped up in white hospital sheets to the corner table where he sees her purse, some flowers, and cards. That is all that is left of his life with his mother, never mind the pointless couch surfing he has done over the past two weeks. Never mind not seeing the inside of a school for the past two months. Funny, the things his mind wants to so stubbornly cling to. 

His body moves on its own. Unseen, unimportant as he weaves between the nurses to grab at his mother's old faded purse. It’s a miserable thing, but it is all that is left of her besides the soft body on the bed. He is slow as he walks away, clutching her purse to his chest as though such a material thing could ever offer any signs of lingering affection that had never been shown in life. 

Martin sits outside the room, back pressed to the wall as he stares into empty space. There are people talking to him, faces new and familiar all passing in a blur of time. He is cold. He is alone. 

There is the sound of ringing. Something is ringing. It ends and starts again. 

Martin looks down at the purse and feels that the universe must be playing a joke on him. Of all the days to bother a dying woman, especially now that she’s gone. The correct thing to do is let the call end, but there is a burning curiosity to see who would give a call on the worst day of his life, what sort of cruel irony the universe has in store for him. Did he forget to pay a bill? Did he forget to call into work? Are those things more important than the loss of life?

He answers the phone and brings it to his ear, the voice on the other end is already speaking. 

“Hello Mrs. Blackwood, this is Elias Bouchard speaking. I don’t normally take the time to make these calls, however, Mrs. Monroe has informed me of her...inability to get into contact with you over the past week. I just wanted to inform you that we will no longer be needing your services if this is how you intend to do business.”

A proper voice, the voice of a gentleman with more power than he’s got knowledge of what to do with it. Martin scoffs, it’s an airy empty thing that causes Mr. Bouchard to pause. 

“Funny thing that is, isn’t it?” Martin says, his voice something distant and airy. He’s almost surprised by how much of an echo it is. An echo of the voice of a person he never got the chance to be. 

“Who is this?” The voice suddenly sounds exasperated, “Whatever, just tell Alina Black-”

“She’s dead.” Martin cuts him off. “My mums...she’s dead.”

There’s silence on the other side of the phone. 

“You uh, she just died you know. You called to fire her on her death day.” This has to be the cruel joke of the universe. If Martin wasn’t so empty if he wasn’t so horribly mad this man for his lack of tack and the ability to wait even one more day. Who fires someone without wondering what could stop them from reaching out? How heartless can one man be? 

“I see. My condolences to you. You’re her son, correct?” There isn’t a trace of sadness or regret in the man's voice. Martin wants to hang up, but he cannot move. “How miserable this must be for you, young man. You’ve lost your mother and you’ve no father to speak of, if I recall the house gossip correctly. Your mother always did her job well, but she will not be difficult to replace. House cleaners a dime a dozen, wouldn’t you say?

“How horrible for all her thirty-five years of life amounted to nothing more than clean floors and clear mirrors, wouldn’t you say, young man? And what’s left for you, after all this is done? Must be awfully lonely, no?” 

Martin wants to yell, but his tongue feels heavy and his heart is breaking into a thousand sharp pieces that hurt more than ever before. Who was this man to say such horrible things about his mother, about him?

“Tell me, young man, what’s your name?” The voice almost sounds gleeful, sounds mocking and cruel. Despite everything in him begging not to answer, it’s as though the words are pulled from him. Like ice water sliding down his throat in reverse.

“I’m Martin,” he says through the beginning of a sob. “Martin Blackwood.”

There is another pause before the voice starts again.

“How awful, for someone your age to go through so much all alone. I cannot even begin to imagine how your life must be falling apart at the seams, the loss of a parent truly is unbearable. I am so sorry that you’ve had to go through this, all on your own. Tell me, Martin, how old are you?”

Martin does not want to answer. He wants to hang up and weep and forget about this horrible, terrible, awful interaction and this man with his cold words, with his soft condolences. No one has ever apologized to Martin for the life he’s lived before. The man doesn't even sound all that sorry.

“Sixteen, sir.” The answer is simple enough. It bubbles out of him between his crying, his voice taking on an odd echo in the empty hall of the hospital. “I’m sixteen.”

“Ah...My poor boy. That’s absolutely...heartbreaking. You poor thing.” It shouldn’t be enough to push Martin over the edge of his limit. In terms of polite conversation, this man was ruder than not. But it’s the most kindness Martin has been awarded in his last few days. He weeps into the phone, bowing his head as he shakes with the force of his sorrow. The voice on the other end says something that gets drowned out. If Martin were to be pressed, later on, he might say it was one wickedly pleased word. 

_Perfect._


	2. Gifts All Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin groans, hiding his face behind his hands. What a horrible day, what a horrible twist of fate. It’s the type of bullshit that’s followed him all his life, the punches he has no choice but to roll with and hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say no proofreading we die like men, because I did proofread a few times. Hopefully I didn't miss anything major, but please enjoy this chapter!

There was always something so romantic about the overcast sea. The way the fog rolled in, shrouding the world in a soft muted blanket of grey. It pulled at something deep in Martin’s bones, an urge to set sail into the unknown and find something, anything out there. There would be nothing, of course, in all his sailings Martin never once encountered something that could possibly satiate that need to keep going, to keep being on the water with nothing but his own musings for company. 

The port of Solus Shipping is busy, as it always is when the fog rolls in. The sound of crewmen and machinery are muffled against the sounds of waves crashing, and Martin can feel himself doze off there with the gentle caress of the sea breeze lulling him to sleep. He’d always found an odd peace there, a sense of longing that simply belonged to him and him alone. 

“Hello there, Martin.” A soft voice, airy and difficult to grasp, competes with the sound of the waves below. Martin turns, knowing that he’d hear his father before seeing him. Peter Lukas loved the sea, and Martin was convinced the sea loved the man in return. He moved about the fog as though it was part of him, a missing limb or a long lost family friend returned at last. He emerged from it, a mighty figure just an inch or two taller than Martin. 

It was always important for Martin to see how perfectly compatible his father was with his life at sea. Whereas others, himself included, meandered around the foggy port trying to navigate with only a few feet of sight, his father was always cocooned by the fog. He did not walk through it as much as become part of it, second nature after so many years at sea. 

“Hello, dad.” His father, with his silver hair and beard, beamed down at him as always before throwing his arms around Martin. Despite how warm his hugs should be, Martin always found them icy and damp, even the times he hadn’t been at sea for months at a time. He’d always joked that it was the ocean’s claim on him, a jealous mistress reminding him of where he belonged. 

Martin wrapped his arms around his father, knowing that in a competition for a bear hug, he’d couldn’t be out-hugged. It was a point of contention in the family, who gave better hugs. Martin claimed he did because he did. But Peter wouldn’t hear of it. 

“So glad you could make it, I wasn’t sure I’d see you this time around. Your father is not with you?” Martin is freed with a quick pat on his back, his father’s steel grey eyes glancing around. 

“Not like I’ve ever missed the chance to see you off, old man.” Martin can’t help the eye roll, it’s been part of the routine since Elias forbade him from traveling aboard  _ The Tundra _ at seventeen. “No point in asking what you know, Dad’s still mad about the uh, the  _ annual fiasco _ ...Honestly? Should change the name to ‘Pre-Divorce Party’…”

“I agree! Don’t know what he plays at, inviting me every year only to throw a fit when I arrive.” 

They laugh at that, something Martin never thought he’d do. Peter and Elias’s first divorce had driven him to misery as he assumed all responsibility for his new parents' broken marriage. The shock of finding Peter drinking straight from the milk carton the very night after they’d signed the divorce papers had set the tone for all Martin’s expectations. 

His fathers were strange. They were rich, old, and out of touch with the world so wrapped up in their perfectly strange bubble. And Martin loved them so very dearly. 

“Where are your lot heading now?” He asks, watching his old father’s eyes light up. 

“We’ll be heading north this time, just up through the nordic coast. I think I deserve that, just some time out in that icy sea.”

“What, that’s it? Seems, hm, a bit short no?” It sounded wonderful, just sailing away on the ocean with nothing but the frigid breeze to worry about. However, when he asks his father where he’s going to sail off to, Martin expects that to fill their conversation for at least twenty minutes. 

“Want me gone so badly, I wouldn’t have expected that from you, son. Guess your father sure is rubbing off on you, hm.” Peter shakes his head, reaching into his pocket as Martin laughs. He pulls out a small, black velvet box. “Unfortunately, I’ve got plans coming up soon.”

“What? Shortest divorce yet?”

“Well, I can’t help it, Marto. I ran out and bought it the moment after your father demanded we separate. You know the effect that man has one, the fire in his eyes! He’s absolutely -”

“Hm, gross.” 

“Marvelous!” Peter laughs at Martin’s face, and Martin can only hum as he thinks back to how he’d heard their argument from the garden. It had mostly his dad yelling, the sound of things being thrown might once have fazed him. But. 

When he’d gone to the library to find it in disarray, he’d simply given his dad a pointed glare that said  _ do not ask for help cleaning that up _ and Elias had caved on admitting he’d been a bit more overdramatic than necessary. 

“Well, I was hoping he’d accompanied you this time. I do have a gift for him.” At Martin’s curious hum, Peter dug through his other pocket and retrieved a slightly larger velvet box. Opening it, Martin was met with expensive-looking cufflinks. They looked custom made, two bright emerald eyes staring out at Martin through the cold stone. 

“Ah, very  _ him _ .” 

“Yes, just a little something for him to remember me by.” 

“The years of on and off marriage not enough?”

“Not since our dear live-at-home-son decided to be a live-away-son, I’m afraid.” He actually had the audacity to pout. Martin made an unimpressed noise and huffed to show that no, actually he wasn’t bothered. He visited enough that he may as well spend more time at home than his own flat. 

“Well, I suppose I can get this to him soon I-”

“Can you do it by the end of the day?” Peter interrupted with that mischief in his eyes that told Martin more than he wanted to know. 

“...Why is there a deadline on this, father dearest?” Nevermind that Martin already had lunch plans with Elias, there was something else at stake and as usual, Martin would be the medium through which one of their retributions followed.

“He may or may not be expecting a check today, I thought the money would be better spent on this.” 

“Oh my god. I’m-” Martin groaned, a bit horrified as he takes the velvet box in his hand and shoves it into his pocket. “Institute money? He’s going to  _ freak _ .”

“Yes! Exactly!” Peter cheers, actually claps his hands together like an excited toddler. 

“The things I do for you.” There’s no actual bite to Martin’s words. He’s lived with them long enough and there’s a point in time when Martin decided to simply let them be rather than go crazy at their ridiculous antics. 

“Well, I am your  _ favorite _ father!” He says gleefully, nudging Martin with an elbow.

“Only ‘cause the other one’s  _ dad _ .” He mutters, just loud enough for Peter to put on the act of fake hurt across his face. Then, his falls somber. It’s as though there’s something calling for him, the way his eyes search above Martin’s head.

“C’mere Marto,” Peter opened his arms again and Martin went easily enough. It was always like that, a sudden goodbye as though his father could feel himself being pulled away back to  _ The Tundra _ . While he would say that Elias, simply for the fact that he’d been home more often, was the dad he was closest to, Martin was fond of Peter. He couldn’t help admire the way he lived, so truthfully himself in his devotion to the sea and his family. “Take good care of your old man, he works himself too hard. Kidnap him for lunch sometime. Thank him for the monthly allowance, even if you don’t touch it, alright?” 

“Sure thing, take care yeah? Let me know when you’re back. I’ll pick you up, we can go get lunch and surprise dad!”

“Of course, that sounds delightful.” He actually reaches out to ruffle Martin’s hair, which earns him a laugh. 

“Bye dad!” Ridiculous old man, Martin can’t help being fond of him.

“Goodbye, Marto.” And just like that, one step back and it’s as though the fog accepts his father back into its arms. Martin can’t help feel a bit lonely, seeing the space where his father stood. He doesn’t mind the long absences, not when he gets his postcards and knick-knacks and phone calls. Despite the distance, Peter tries to be present. Martin appreciated the effort. 

“Right, well.” He says to himself and begins his walk to his car. 

* * *

The drive to lunch is long and arduous considering the lack of competent drivers on the road. It’s as he’s nearing the restaurant that he’s supposed to meet Elias at -a shared favorite that makes all the hassle worth it- that his phone rings. 

“Hello?” He says, putting it on speaker.  _ What’s the penalty, Martin?  _ He remembers that conversation quite vividly.

“Martin I am calling to inform you that due to some fool donor I have to entertain today, I will not be able to make it to lunch.” 

“Huh! I’m- I mean I’m basically already there.” 

“Yes, I am aware of my tardiness.”

“...And?” 

“Well, I suppose we will have to reschedule lunch.”

“Hm. Problem, I have got a gift for you from dad. Said it was time-sensitive?”

“...I don’t want it.” It sounds as though Elias is forcing the words out between his teeth. Martin didn’t expect anything else. 

“I  _ did _ promise, however. How does dinner sound?”

“I’m heading out of town, you know that.” 

“Hm.” He had forgotten. “That means you don’t want me to stay over?”

“We’ll do a late dinner tomorrow.

“I-I have plans tomorrow.” He lies.

“Don’t lie to me, Martin. What plans could you possibly have?”

“ ...Plans.”

“ _ Martin _ .” It sounds like a warning, it might have worked once. 

“ _ Elias. _ ” He responds, imitating his father’s voice. All he gets in response is a sigh, and even though the static of the phone, Martin can hear his father’s smile.

“Fine then. Bring it to the Institue.” He says, sounding final. And Martin knows that it is. 

“Oh  _ no- _ ”

“You did  _ promise _ didn’t you? Goodbye.”

And just like that, he’s won. Martin groans in the solitude of his car as he sets off back in the direction he just came from. It wasn’t that Martin disliked the Insitute. He thought his father had a wonderful job fit for a man as studious and ambitious he is. However, he had gone to the Insitute exactly twice. Neither visit had good memories attached and Martin was certain that...that the Institute was haunted. 

He drives in silence, listening to nothing more the noises of the city and the silent hum of the car. If his father had called him just a few minutes earlier, he could have avoided the extra drive, but he supposes there’s no helping this. Thankfully, the parking at the Insitute isn’t busy. Martin’s pretty sure most of the employees don’t live too far.  _ The use of interns, the greatest invention ever _ , his father once said. 

Parking the car, Martin makes sure he’s presentable before heading in. The Insitute stands tall, demanding attention and respect as much as any building possibly could. Martin’s not sure how anyone can stomach working at the Magnus Institute. It feels more like a forbidden place of worship, it’s diety watching every step he takes up the few stairs. Just waiting for him to make mistake after mistake, cataloging it all away for god knows what use. He doesn’t like that feeling of being watched. Hence, his certainty that the old damn place is haunted. 

“Hello,” Martin says at the front desk. There’s an older woman there, her hair tied up in a neat strawberry blonde bun. “I’m here to see Elias Bouchard? Oh, uh, I’m Martin Blackwood.”

“Hello, young man!” The woman looks up at him with bright eyes, a name tag on her blouse reads  _ Rosie _ . “Let me just look up at the schedule real quick, we’ve been super busy lately!” 

“Oh! T-No-No rush!” He rushes as Rosie seems to pause on a name. She mutters a  _ hm, strange _ followed by an  _ oh _ that gets Martin more nervous than he has any right to be. 

“Well, Mr. Blackwood, there seems to be a scheduling discrepancy, but I can help you in the meantime!” She says, reaching for a heavy binder before heading towards a room to the side. 

“Oh?” Martin lets out a choked noise before following after, confused and unsure. Maybe there was another waiting room? Someplace he could just stop off Peter’s gift before heading out?    
  


“Take a seat, Mr. Blackwood!” She says, motioning to the other side of a desk. He does, unsure of what is happening as she sits and looks through the binder. 

“Hmm, alright, so. Why the Insitute?” She asks, a short smile on her face. Martin gives her a surprised look, which she returns with a pressing one. “What are your thoughts on the Insitute?”

“O-oh! Hm.” Martin pauses, completely unsure of what’s going on. Maybe...This sounds exactly like a terribly convoluted plot by his father to keep him busy while he deals with donors. Or! Maybe she’s just curious about what her boss’s son thinks of the place? That sounds wrong too. “W-Well, I truly admire what the Insitute does. I-I think that, in a place of science and academia, i-it’s important to give credence to the experiences of people. A-And not just that, but researching stories about the supernatural and esoteric provides a loo-look into the anxieties and the issues that concern people, and at how those manifest. At least in a person’s mind, that is. I truly admire that Jonah Magnus saw a void in-in this research area and decided to fill it w-with science and with respect for the stories that people felt were important enough to be studied. ” 

He must have said something in all that rambling that she approved of because she looked a bit excited. 

“Wonderful. Now, how would your experience in parapsychology help you here in research?” 

“Oh!” Martin stared. She looked at him expectantly, leaning forward. This is an interview, Martin realizes with absolute horror. He’s not the slightest bit sure about how this could have happened, or how he’s gotten himself in this situation. But he’s there, he can feel his heart start to slow and the world spins as his mouth opens. The world stops. And Martin does what he’s best at.

He lies. 

It feels like he’s outside himself, staring at himself talk and joke and  _ lie _ about his degree in parapsychology and schooling days. How he spent time at labs of a school he never went to. The friends he made, the biggest obstacles he’s overcome. Fake stories of leadership and making sure that his teammates in the labs were fine. He’s begging himself to shut up, that it could have been as easy as an  _ oh I’m sorry, there seems to have been a misunderstanding _ , and then he could have been on his way. 

He watches as Rosie shuts the binder once the interview is over. She looks rather charmed and happy, a successful interview that should have never happened. He hardly listens as he begins to debrief him, telling him of how soon he should expect to be called back, the benefits of working at the institute...Martin just smiles through it.

That is until the door swings open and a stern Elias Bouchard steps in. 

“Rosie I was expect...Ah. Am I interrupting something?”

Martin just about screams. 

“Oh goodness! Mr. Bouchard! I was just finishing up an interview with Mr. Blackwood.” She turns to him with a kind smile, “What luck to meet the boss on your first visit!” 

“Rosie, I do believe I had an appointment with...Mr.Blackwood today, yes?”

“Yes, sir. However, you were in a meeting with Mrs. Robinson and the Fairchilds before, so I thought to conduct the preliminary interview myself.” 

His father actually looks impressed with Rosie and Martin suddenly realizes that he’s met with someone more meaningful to the drive of the Insitute than he could have realized. He turns to Elias, who looks back at him with stern eyes. The bastard is laughing at him, he knows his father too well for his attempt at dignity. 

“Yes, that would have normally been fine save for that this is the third and final interview for Mr. Blackwood.” As Rosie lets out a surprised noise, Martin feels the ground open up beneath him. He is going to do something drastic and dramatic, such as is the ways of the Bouchard-Lukas family. He is. Going to do  _ something _ besides glare daggers at his father. 

“Oh goodness! My apologies Mr. Blackwood! That must have been what you were trying to tell me? I’m so sorry to have-have made you sit here for all that again.” 

“O-Oh no need to apologize, uh, a good warm-up for what’s to come, I assume?” 

“What a delightful way to see the situation. Rosie, would you please leave me to conduct this interview. We can compare notes afterward, yes? You know I value your input greatly!” 

Elias actually sounds like he means it. Martin is going to kick his shins the moment he sits, he’s going to go home set Mrs. Magnus free in his father’s room. 

“Of course! Good luck, Mr. Blackwood.” Her smile is so genuine, he almost wants to try and get the job simply to not let her down. Yes, of course, he thinks sarcastically to himself, can’t disappoint the stranger he just met. 

She leaves the giant binder and Elias closes the door behind her. Elias gives himself a moment after the click of the door before taking the now vacant seat. 

“W-W-What?! What the  _ hell _ , dad!” Martin whisper-shouts, groaning as he drops his face into his hands. “Why... _ why  _ would you play along with that?  _ Why? _ ”

Elias wears a thin smile, but as Martin grows increasingly flustered, he cannot hold back his laughter. Martin’s kick to the shin does nothing but urge him on until he’s wiping at his eyes and clutching at his sides.  _ The bastard that he is _ .

“What did you do Martin?” He asks between wheezes. Martin can feel his face go red. He can feel his lips turn down into an undignified frown. 

“I  _ froze _ like-like...I don’t know! She asked me a question and then boom! An interview? W-What?! Oh my god, who’s interview did I highjack?”

“No need to worry, son. Mister  _ Merlin _ Blackwood called, I happened to answer. He won’t be needing this particular job anymore. 

“Oh. Oh well, t-that’s good. That’s good. Right?” He thinks, unsure of how truthful his father was about that. If there was one skill they shared, it was lying. “Why did you have to play along?” 

“Thought it would be hilarious, and as it turns out, I was right.” He sneers, bringing his hands together on the table. “Now, where is my gift?” 

Martin rolls his eyes and digs through his pockets, finding the box and passing it to his father. Elias takes it with graceful hands and opens it with a calculated look on his face. “A big gaudy, aren’t they?”

“So they do remind you of dad.” Martin says, leaning back in his chair. His father huffs a laugh and then shoots him a glare. 

“Is this where my institute money went?” He asks, voice curt and venomous. Something Martin has long since become immune to. 

“Yes, I do believe so. Want me to pawn them off and ge-” He doesn’t finish the sentence before his father is snatching the box away, hiding it down in his lap. “Okay, take it you like them, huh? I think they’re a bit on the nose for your…aesthetic. But they look good!” 

“Yes, I agree.”

“So not gaudy.”

“Just the right amount. The Peter Lukas amount.” He says his ex-husband’s name through his teeth like it’s difficult to spit out. Despite that, Martin can’t help but beam at the clear devotion his fathers have always shown one another. As strange and convoluted their relationship might be, Martin is glad that they have each other. No one else in the world might understand them, and the thought makes him sad. It’s better this way, despite the back and forths, they always will have each other. “Right, well, let’s go over the code of conduct for the Insitute. Just because you’ll be in research does not mean that I want you dressed like a common street harlot or-”

“Woah, Woah! I am  _ not  _ going to work here! A-Are you insane?” Martin all but shouts it, just barely keeping his voice from being too loud. “T-H-Lets leave this here, yeah? Haha funny on Martin yes! I agree, b-but no!” 

“Oh come now, son. You managed to impress Rosie and that’s with only your lies-”

“Reason enough for me to walk out and never walk back in.” He says, nodding despite the frown that forms on his father’s face. Martin looks away, then down at his hands. “Are you really insinuating that an interview is the same as a degree? I’m not qualified.” 

“Well…” Elias starts slow. He reaches out, putting a hand on the table between them. “I have just divorced your father, again. T-I think this could be nice.”

“Using the divorce against me already?” Martin laughs a bitter laugh. The frown on his father’s face deepens, his hand curls into a loose fist. 

“Then you can see I’m a little desperate.” He almost sneers, but it lacks that usual oomph that tells Martin he’s joking. It’s concerning. Martin reaches out and holds Elias’s hand. His father sighs at the contact and Martin feels that concern beginning to overwhelm him. “I have been thinking about the future. 

About how your father and I are growing older. This game we play, the fun we have...It’s only going to last so much longer. I suppose I’ve been feeling nostalgic. I know it’s not your duty, nor your fault to pick up the pieces when your father and I end things roughly, but...It would be nice, to have a familiar face around.” 

Martin knows that he visits enough. Almost every other day for a couple of hours. But his fathers are both growing older and expectations shift. To say that Peter and Elias gave him a strange childhood would be to call a volcano lukewarm. Still, they’d given him more than their money and resources. They’d given him their affection, they thawed out space in their life for him, made it warm and welcoming. They gave him their time, their understanding when he couldn’t understand himself. Sure, they were odd. Odder than odd. But. 

“I don’t want to work here,” he says in a voice that already says he will. 

“Why don’t you give it a few weeks? See if you like it. Keep looking for work on the side and decide whether you’d like to keep working several odd jobs or one good job that will give you what you need to survive. Not even _ give _ , you’d be earning your wage just like everyone else.” 

Playing Martin’s tune, he can’t help but feel like he’s being led into something different.

“Do you have a bet on this, with dad?” 

“Of course I do. One of the oldest ones I have. About two months after your adoption. I would be winning it with you working here, but more importantly, I would have my son to look forward to seeing every day. No one needs to know of course, we don’t need to out to eat every lunch or drive here together. Just...seing you around now and then would be good.”

“I don’t like being manipulated.” He says, resigned. 

“Am I? Or am I just asking my only son to do me a favor?” 

Martin groans, hiding his face behind his hands. What a horrible day, what a horrible twist of fate. It’s the type of bullshit that’s followed him all his life, the punches he has no choice but to roll with and hope for the best. 

“Fine. Fine! I’ll do it.” He says, watching his father smile something true and genuine that makes Martin furious to protect it. That’s all he wants, for his fathers to move into old age gracefully and joyfully, regardless of the lives they live. The best gift Peter and Elias have ever offered Martin was simple. 

It was the chance, again and again, to be a caring son. 

  
  


“Thank you, Martin,” Elias says, there’s an edge to it that says Martin has been played, but what of it? It makes his father happy and it requires so little of him, just to work at the institute he hates without being qualified. Mrs. Magnus is going to have a fun time exploring Elias’s room. “Please don’t’ release your tarantula in my house, I truly am grateful. Now. You will be starting in two weeks. That is enough time to teach you the basics.”

“Two weeks is the same as a four ye-as an eight-year degree?” Martin asks, exasperated in the face of his father’s smugness. 

“It is when I’m the teacher. We’ll get started when I get back. You’re free to stay home for the duration of our lessons, of course.” Elias rifles through the binder, once forgotten it is suddenly the only thing on his father’s mind. He watches as Elias flips through sections until he reaches one that holds an official, heavyset paper. The sort a certificate might be printed on. “You just need to sign this contract.” 

“Fine.” He says, reaching for the paper and the fancy fountain pen his father holds out for him. It feels oddly momentous. That feeling of being watched returns tenfold, but the only one in the room is Elias. Even his father’s excitement at winning such a long bet is dwarfed by the feeling of being watched. It’s suffocating, muting the world as Martin scratches his name across the paper with a careful hand as he writes  _ Martin K. Blackwood  _ on the specified line. It’s nothing like the fog of the docks, but a thin static that makes his mind a fuzzy thing. He must be more nervous than he thought.

And just like that, Martin realizes that he can hear the ticking of the wall clock. That he can hear his own breath as he sighs and pushes the paperback to his happy father. 

“Oh, Martin.” Elias says, his voice brimming with joy and pride. “I could not have asked for a better, more perfect son than you. Thank you truly.” 

“Of course,” He says, already resigned to work at this godforsaken, haunted building the next weeks of his life.  _ Perfect son _ , the words filled him with relief that he clings to, holds close to his heart in the knowledge that he’s done the right thing for his dad.“I suppose it’ll be a good change of pace.” 

“Right, well, I’ll get everything set up in the coming days. And your lessons of course. I get to tell your father, of course.” 

“Sure.” 

The smile Elias gives him at that reminds him of another time, another moment. It’s a voice that asks  _ are you sure _ ? And another that replies  _ yes this is exactly what we want _ . Martin sighs, gives a nod and lets himself stand. 

“Alright then, I’ll be off.” He says, giving his had a firm handshake. “Now that you’re my boss and all. See you later?” 

“Of course,” Elias huffs a laugh, standing up to give Martin an awkward hug as the table stands between them. “I will be  _ seeing  _ you, Martin. Do take care until then, yes?” 

“Mhm.” He nods, giving his dad a quick pat on the shoulder before heading out. He nods to Rosie, who shoots him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up, as he passes by. It feels surreal, of course, it does. 

He’d never have thought to work at The Magnus Insitute, never for a moment in his life.

  
_ Fucking hell _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin lives in a world of LonelyEyes inside jokes. They think they're being slick, Martin doesn't want to bother with whatever strange language his dads speak. 
> 
> This chapter kinda got away from me and it's a bit longer than I realized? Not sure if it will stay the standard chapter length for this fic. I decided that this will most likely be a jumping the timeline fic with present/sort of canon complacent and then a few 'in the past' chapters to show how lonelyeyes and martin got close. Also, don't they seem like nice dads? wonder how long that will last :) but this is supposed to be a lighthearted fic, so we'll see where it heads to eventually. for now, there's just a lot of embarrassment for martin to endure. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left a comment or a kudos, I super appreciate it! Makes my week! Hoping you're all well, stay safe!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading along!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr on my writing blog at honey-bruh or on my personal at beesabuzzin
> 
> Have a great day!


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